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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29056380">Each Breath You Take is Mine</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mea_laetitia/pseuds/mea_laetitia'>mea_laetitia</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(this is VERY similar to most marauders fics though lmao), Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Angst, First Kiss, Fluff, George is a bit of a nerd, George is french, Get Together, Karl and Quackity are an unstoppable duo, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Requited Love, Sapnap is quidditch captain, Slow Burn, You don't need to know the plot to harry potter to understand this, dream is a flirt, dream is a jock, the plot of this fic and the series are completely different, title is a lyric from beautiful crime by tamer :)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:34:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,357</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29056380</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mea_laetitia/pseuds/mea_laetitia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>George graduated early from Beauxbatons and is now spending what would be his final year of school training to be a healer at Hogwarts. Luckily, or unluckily for him, the boy with the piercing green eyes that caught his eye on his first night has a particular talent for trouble, and finds himself in the hospital wing on more than one occasion. </p><p>[HOGWARTS AU DNF]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>125</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>just wanna make my boundaries clear before we start:</p><p>i am ok with this being spread or talked about, or cc's knowing about it. that's fine with me, not that i imagine they will find out but just in case! that being said if any cc's involved are uncomfortable with this i will take it down immediately. also: please don't critique my writing or give me 'advice'. im not looking for that, this is just for fun :) and also please don't compare my writing to others' that makes me uncomfortable :D </p><p>that being said, enjoy the fic! &lt;33</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>George stared in wonderment at the castle that towered above them, blocking the last dredges of light from blinding them as the sun dipped behind him, and casting strange shadows on the steps that they climbed in a hurry. The witch that ushered him along, McGonagall as she had introduced herself, kept glancing back disapprovingly at him, clearly wishing he would hurry up. It was evident that she didn’t give a hoot about the frankly stunning grounds that Hogwarts was located on, nor did she care about the castle itself. She had been living at Hogwarts for years, she had said, but George was now only seeing it for the first time, and his jaw was simply on the floor. </p><p>McGonagall tutted under her breath and George had the decency to realize that he would be staying there all year, and would have plenty of time to gawp over the scenery. He hastened his pace to reach her, just as they reached the large front doors. McGonagall flicked them open with her wand, and ushered him through, leading him down several winding corridors George just knew he would end up lost in, until they reached another set of double doors. </p><p>The witch finally smiled at him as she turned to face him. “Sorry for the rush, but the students will be arriving any moment and we really can’t afford to lose any time.”</p><p>George nodded understandingly as they entered what he assumed was the reason for his stay at Hogwarts: the hospital wing. A kind-faced witch greeted them, and she too looked rushed. George had only a moment to ponder why the student’s arrival was so stressful before he was being pulled into what he assumed was this new witch’s office. </p><p>“George this is Madame Pomfrey.” McGonagall introduced, and the women shared a smile. “She’ll be your instructor for the year, and will help you with your studies as well as help you settle in for the first couple of weeks.”</p><p>George reached out a hand to shake Pomfrey’s, trying to convey the politest smile he could, though it was a struggle even for him. He hadn’t started at a new school, as a student or otherwise, for six years, and it was as stressful as it had been when he was eleven. He supposed it was lucky that he didn’t need to worry about speaking English — French being his first language — otherwise this might be a challenge. </p><p>McGonagall left them, as swift as she had entered, leaving George with the woman he would be spending the next ten months with. </p><p>“You have your books I presume?” Pomfrey asked.</p><p>“Er, yes.” George said, holding up his satchel that had been enlarged to contain all his belongings for his stay at Hogwarts with a dumb grin. As nerdy as it might have him sound, he was really quite excited for his studies this year. </p><p>“Excellent. Would you mind grabbing those out for me now so we can store them?” She said. “I’ve made up a small office for you as well, so you don’t get too distracted by any of the patients.”</p><p>She pointed to a dark wooden door, which, upon opening, showed a rather lovely office, much better than he had been expecting. There was a small fireplace with a sofa, as well as a desk that sat by a large floor-to-ceiling window overlooking what had to be the biggest lake George had ever seen. Next to the desk was a bookshelf that had already been almost filled, but there was room enough for George to slide his own in. </p><p>“I hope this will be comfortable enough.” Pomfrey smiled from the doorway. </p><p>George found it hard to contain the grin of excitement that spread across his face. “It’s wonderful, thank you.”</p><p>She led the way out of both of their offices, and into the main area of the hospital wing. </p><p>“We likely won’t have anyone to treat in the next couple of days, but as soon as classes start, I must warn you, these kids love to get into all sorts of trouble, so it’ll be very busy.” Pomfrey explained. “Now I take it you’ve had some hands-on experience healing already? Or has it been mostly book work so far?”</p><p>“Mostly book work. That’s why I’m here, I only need a year’s experience before I can get a job as a junior healer for St. Mungo’s.”</p><p>The older witch smiled down at him approvingly. “Well it’s wonderful to see someone as young as yourself going down the healer path. Most kids who graduate early prefer to go off into Auror training or even get a job at the Ministry.” She tutted under her breath at that.</p><p>George nodded. “A couple of kids I know back at Beauxbatons went down that path, but it’s not for me really. I’m a bit clumsy I must say and I can’t see it going well for me as an Auror.”</p><p>Pomfrey laughed warmly and patted him on the back as they set off to the Great Hall. “Well, the students will be arriving any minute; I bet you’ll want some time to take it in without the children gawping at you. I expect you’ll be quite the word on the street young man, especially amongst the seventh years.”</p><p>George tried not to think too hard about the fact that soon it wouldn’t be just him and Pomfrey. That soon the halls would be flooded with children his age, who were still in school, who had friends and lives and would probably ignore him. Not that making friends mattered to him. He was at Hogwarts for one reason and that was to get his mandatory one year of experience before working at St. Mungo’s. Friendship could wait until he had a job. </p><p>The Great Hall was as spectacular as Pomfrey had said it would be. Large and cavernous, without feeling like an actual cave, with a ceiling charmed to show the gorgeous pink sunset that was slowly dipping behind the mountains, and casting light and shadow onto the lake at its feet. Pomfrey led him to what he assumed was the professor’s table, showing him to the seat that would be his. </p><p>“Of course, don’t feel you must sit here. I imagine you’ll want to sit with students your age once you meet a few of them.”</p><p>George tried not to gulp at the thought. </p><p>“I’ll probably be sitting here a while then.” He joked, taking his seat beside her. </p><p>It took only a matter of minutes for the seats to fill up in front of them. Students his age and younger, all in different coloured robes, sorted themselves into four of the long tables and were immediately chatting animatedly. George’s suspicions had been correct: even if there was a desire within him to befriend anyone, they were all already befriended themselves. Each student appeared to have a friend group that they slotted nicely into, none seemingly searching for a new one. </p><p>Whatever. He thought. I’m fine with myself, and I’ve got Pomfrey to keep me company, not that I’ll need it.</p><p>Pomfrey explained the events of the night to him under her breath as they happened. When a long line of eleven-year olds cam sidling into the hall, none taking a seat as Remus had assumed, she whispered to him that they were about to be sorted into the four Hogwarts houses, and then explained what each’s values were. </p><p>“I wonder what house I would have been in.” George asked randomly, as he watched a tiny blonde girl scurry toward the Hufflepuff table.</p><p>Pomfrey frowned in thought, keeping her head faced forward. “I’m tempted to say Ravenclaw, mostly because of how hard working you were in order to graduate so early, but then again, that very determined nature within you and your desire to help people no matter the cost points to Gryffindor.”</p><p>George cocked his head in surprise. “Really?”</p><p>“Oh yes.” The witch nodded thoughtfully. “A lot of people think the hat sorts you based on surface level criteria, but there’s more to it than being brave or being smart. It’s about who you are as a person rather than what you do.” </p><p>It was strange to George, the concept of separating one’s students into houses based on their character. Beauxbatons hadn’t done anything like that, the students were all treated the same, and there certainly wasn’t any points system like the one Pomfrey had explained to him upon questioning. </p><p>With the sorting ceremony under wraps, a man at the center of the Professor’s table stood up. He was wearing shining silver robes, and had a beard that was almost as long as the table was tall. The wizard had such an air of authority to him that Remus didn’t even need to ask Pomfrey to know it was Dumbledore, and from the immediate hush of the students his suspicions were confirmed. All eyes were on him. </p><p>“Welcome back to another year students! And for those just joining us, welcome to Hogwarts! I hope you’ll find it a suitable home for the duration of the school year.” His eyes twinkled as he smiled at his students. “Before we feast, I have just a few announcements to make, so do bear with me.”</p><p>A few groans chorused from the crowds of students. One particularly loud one coming from the table closest to George: the Gryffindor table. The boy had his head in his hands, locks of dirty blonde hair hiding his face from view. He must have been extremely hungry to have given that strong a reaction, but a boy sitting next to him with sandy brown hair wacked him on the back of the head with a disapproved look. The blonde-haired boy must have been somewhat of a trouble maker then, if he gained such annoyance even from his friends. </p><p>“Shut up Dream.” The boy whispered.  </p><p>The blonde boy raised his head and stared forlornly at Professor Dumbledore, who was droning on about a change in the school rules. George knew he should probably be listening too, but something about the boy was hard to look away from.</p><p>At first it was his appearance that stole his gaze. He was unlike any other boy he’d seen, with his unconventionally shaggy hair, and his uniform worn lazily; his tie was loosened and barely on at all, rather just hanging loosely from his neck. He sat differently too. At Beauxbatons if you slouched you got yelled at, but it seemed entirely the opposite here. No one seemed to care that the boy, Dream as the brunette had called him, was slumped over the table, his head resting lightly on his fist, with one leg tucked underneath him while the other stretched underneath the table. </p><p>But once George had gotten used to his appearance it was his expression that really enticed him. The boy had a look of pure ease on his face, as if he was the very picture of casualness. He didn’t appear to have a care in the world. And despite his groans about having to listen to Dumbledore’s speech, and his evident impatience for the feast to begin, he had a permanent smile in his eyes as he whispered something to the blonde boy that made him snort. He was utterly relaxed, confident, comfortable with his friends. </p><p>And George was absolutely entranced by him. So much so, that he practically leapt out of his skin when he heard Dumbledore say his name. </p><p>“…George here will be staying at Hogwarts for the year, helping Madame Pomfrey out in the hospital wing.” Dumbledore gestured to George and at that moment every single head in the hall turned to face him. </p><p>His face burnt red, and suddenly he was incredibly self-conscious. He raised an awkward hand to wave at the students. Some seemed interested in his presence, others, it appeared, couldn’t care less. George supposed that to the younger ones he seemed as old as the teachers, but to the sixth and seventh years…he was definitely the fish out of water. </p><p>“George graduated Beauxbatons a year early and is now staying at Hogwarts to gain experience as a Healer. I hope you all make him feel welcome, and please feel free to go up and chat to him as I’m sure he’ll appreciate a friend.” Dumbledore chuckled merrily, unaware that those words were possibly the worst he could have said in that moment.</p><p>A couple kids over at the Slytherin table snickered under their breaths, and a particularly horrible looking one shot him a nasty sneer. He certainly didn’t feel welcome amongst the students anymore, and made a mental note to steer clear of that particular Slytherin wherever possible.  </p><p>Dumbledore changed the subject then and continued to blab on about maintaining the course of education that they had so successfully in previous years. And George’s eyes wandered once again to the Gryffindor boy from before. </p><p>Only to find his light green eyes already on George.</p><p>To his surprise, the boy flushed slightly at being caught but he didn’t remove his gaze. Something about it made George feel sure he shouldn’t either, like it would be rude to look away from the strange boy he had never met. </p><p>Dream. He reminded himself of the boy’s name, thought it certainly was a strange one. It sounded like something one might name a teddy bear. That thought made George chuckle a little, and Dream seemed almost offended. He pulled a mock frown of disapproval for a second before smirking at him. He was joking around with George. Joking.</p><p>It was absurd. </p><p>They tore their eyes away at the same time, and George tried not to think too much of the exchange. The feast wrapped up after some time, in which George thoroughly gorged himself on the simply delectable food the house elves had provided. Madame Pomfrey then led him to the guest tower, which contained a number of rooms that would ‘Appeal to the resident’s taste.’</p><p>She left him then, saying that he could spend his first day exploring the castle and settling in, and that they would get to work the day after. </p><p>George listened to the sound of her footsteps receding, not moving towards the door. There were two reasons for this. The first, he was curious about what the room might present itself as to him, and wanted to try and guess correctly before he entered. </p><p>The second was his own need to stop and ponder. </p><p>It had been one of the most hectic days of his life. What with moving to Hogwarts, being introduced to an entire school at once, meeting Pomfrey, not to mention starting his journey to becoming a healer. If he was being honest, he wanted nothing more than to collapse into bed and not be woken until lunchtime. But he was a sentimentalist at heart. He took the moment to stand by the door, taking in the scent of the castle, feeling the weight of his duffle bag slung over his shoulder, remembering every inch of this final moment before he officially started his year at Hogwarts. </p><p>Remembering a certain pair of green eyes shrouded by blonde locks of hair.</p><p>No, he was remembering everyone, the students of Hogwarts, and the way they had stared at him when he was introduced. What the fuck was wrong with him? He shook his head and turned the door knob quickly, forgetting to savour the moment and plunging straight into his new bedroom for the year.</p><p>He was met with what appeared to be a small common area. A small sofa sat in front of the fire, not unsimilar to his office in the hospital wing, though this one was a deep burgundy red in colour and had a matching ottoman just in front of it. There was another desk here as well, this one rather small in size but looking as though it had just the right amount of space for his parchment. There was also another bookshelf, but this seemed to be filled with books of leisure; works of muggle poetry and other classics he had been indulging in recently. </p><p>The floor was thickly carpeted, so that as he walked across the room towards the adjoining door that led to his bedroom, his feed made a soft padding sound. The door to said bedroom was heavy, and when George pushed it open it dragged across the carpet, pulling the hairs all in one direction in a satisfying manner. The bedroom itself was rather cozy. It had a double bed in the center and a couple of bedside tables, adjoining was a tiny bathroom with royal blue tiles to match the bed-spread. </p><p>He found himself smiling softly. The room was nice; the view from his windows was even nicer, displaying the side of the Gryffindor tower at eye-level only twenty meters away, as well as the forbidden forest, who’s trees swayed lightly in the now almost pitch-black night. Any worry he had left about his stay at Hogwarts disappeared, replaced then by excitement. </p><p>Sentimentalist George was gone. He quickly unpacked his duffle bag into the chest of drawers provided, threw on some pyjamas and collapsed into the bed, pillows and sheets completely engulfing him in a way that made him feel safer than he ever had.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was raining softly that afternoon, but the window panes were left open to allow for the cool breeze to enter. The few patients that were, to George’s surprise, ill enough already to be in bed, lay underneath the windows. Their cheeks were flushed from the cold, but their temperature was high enough that such a breeze was necessary or else they might roast under the sheets.</p>
<p>Darius Smith, Jade Erickson, and Phoenix Green. All Ravenclaw sixth years, all cursed with a sickness spell by a particularly nasty, in George’s opinion, Slytherin. But when they had come in, they were still laughing at whatever had caused the incident, and when they explained George found it rather hard not to laugh too. </p>
<p>Apparently, a boy named Punz had been walking and bumped into the three of them, and before they could even try to apologize the boy had his wand out. But he was too slow for Phoenix, who hit him with a furnunculus hex before he could say anything. This apparently pissed off Punz who immediately retaliated with a sickness charm, but not before the Ravenclaws had gotten a good laugh at him, along with several other bystanders. </p>
<p>In only a week George had learnt enough from the injured parties at the hospital about Punz to gather that the boy was a real piece of work. Either him or his friends were the cause of about a third of the people who came into the hospital wing, and that was only in about eight days of school being back. He dreaded to think what kind of trouble the boy would get into as the year progressed, clearly, he had a rather short temper. </p>
<p>Still, even despite Punz’ impact on the general health of the school, George was surprised at just how many students managed to injure themselves in so little time. He supposed Pomfrey had been right when she said that it would be a busy start to the semester in the hospital wing. </p>
<p>The rain poured down harder, starting to spill onto the windowsill from the wind that carried it. George shot a small drying spell around them, watching as the rain bounced off the invisible shield. The Ravenclaws were fast asleep at this point; George drew their curtains quietly and casted silencing spells so they could sleep soundly if by any chance, someone came in screaming. </p>
<p>As it happened, someone did come in screaming, not five minutes after he had thought that, in the shape of a first-year boy. He was clutching his hand and yelling to any being out there to help him, thought clearly it wasn’t as bad as he made it out to be, because George knew damn well from his studied that if a patient made that much noise it was usually because they were conscious, and by extension, safe enough for the time being. </p>
<p>Pomfrey was out purchasing supplies in Hogsmeade, which meant that George had to deal with the screaming child all by himself. </p>
<p>Great.</p>
<p>He put on what he hoped was a comforting smile and helped steer the kid onto a vacant bed. The boy, whose name George still didn’t know, seemed unable to utter words, for he simply held out his arm and displayed a rather magnificent gash.</p>
<p>It was clearly the result of a nasty diffindo curse gone awry, evident from the smooth nature of it and the dead straightness of the line. A small trickle of blood smeared the boy’s arm, and he continued to wail in pain. The noise wasn’t doing wonders for George, who was now panicking slightly because he couldn’t concentrate with such a loud sound right in his ear. </p>
<p>He lifted his head to meet the gaze of the boy, who was staring at him with wide blue eyes. The boy must have had one of the lowest pain tolerances George had ever encountered, but he tried to be sympathetic. Not everyone was as immune to pain and gore as he was. </p>
<p>He let his eyes travel back down to the cut, which was still bleeding steadily. </p>
<p>“Aguamenti.” He mumbled, using the water to clean the cut as best as he could before he healed it. </p>
<p>The boy was now only whimpering softly; George clenched his hand tightly. “This might sting a little, squeeze my hand if it hurts okay?”</p>
<p>The boy nodded tearfully.</p>
<p>“Episkey.” </p>
<p>The boy yelped but his eyes widened even further when he saw that the cut had completely disappeared from his arm. </p>
<p>“Hey, you didn’t even need to squeeze my hand.” George shined, and the boy smiled, wiping his tears. “You’re stronger than a lot of the older kids I must say, I know that curse hurts quite a lot.”</p>
<p>“Have you ever gotten it?”</p>
<p>George tried not to let his amusement show on his face. Oh yes, he had definitely gotten it, and much worse. That’s what happens when you attend Beauxbatons and don’t have any friends. “Someone cursed me with it once yes, and it’s a right foul one isn’t it?”</p>
<p>The boy giggled and nodded, standing up. George stood with him. </p>
<p>“What’s your name and house then? I’ll let Madame Pomfrey know you stopped by and she’ll send a healing potion at dinner to get rid of any remaining pain.”</p>
<p>“I’m Angus Rafter.” He said proudly. “Gryffindor.”</p>
<p>“Ahh, I should have guessed that!” George sighed animatedly. “You’re so brave I just should have known! Well off you go then, I’m sure you’ve got class now haven’t you?”</p>
<p>Angus nodded sheepishly, thanked George again and practically skipped out of the hospital wing. When George looked up to follow him with his eyes he saw Pomfrey standing in the doorway, watching him with a soft smile of approval. </p>
<p>“You’re good with kids George.” She said, and they walked into her office together so as to not be overheard by anyone. “I think you’ve got a real future ahead of you in this field.”</p>
<p>George’s cheeks flushed with pride. “Thank you.”</p>
<p>She gestured for him to sit on the armchair across from hers, the fire crackled merrily beside them, casting shadows and red light onto their faces.</p>
<p>“How have you been settling in George?” She asked, a knowing look in her eyes. </p>
<p>“Fine.” George put on a smile. He didn’t want to worry her with his selfish wishes for friendship, he wasn’t there to make friends. He told himself that every day. </p>
<p>Pomfrey clearly didn’t believe that, but she didn’t push it. Instead, she handed him a cup of tea and a book, flipping to a page of interest and speaking to him about its contents animatedly, clearly passionate about it. They spent the afternoon in peaceful company of one another, occasionally going back to the main wing of the hospital to check on the Ravenclaws. </p>
<p>Once or twice Pomfrey smiled at him and ruffled his hair lightly. It gave George that familiar sense of excitement that he’d felt at thoughts of the coming year almost a week ago. He didn’t need any friends. He had Pomfrey, and his work, and the joy that came with helping other students like Angus. </p>
<p>But the nagging thought of why he kept telling himself that came up again. </p>
<p>He ignored it. </p>
<p>He kept telling himself that because it was the truth. </p>
<p>Right?</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>The fireplace in George’s room was crackling lightly, soft enough it wasn’t distracting but loud enough that it comforted George. He had his head in his textbooks, studying the recipe for a pain-relieving potion Pomfrey had given him, and he half considered trying it out right then because his back was beginning to ache like a bitch from all the hunching over he was doing. The air in the room was beginning to heat up, and absently he thought of opening the window to let in some fresh air. </p>
<p>But that would defeat the point of having the fireplace on. He concluded.</p>
<p>Maybe if he had decided to open the window, things would have worked out differently. Certainly, there wouldn’t have been shards of glass covering his floor, and almost definitely there wouldn’t be a boy laying in said shards of glass, groaning in pain. </p>
<p>The sudden crash of the boy’s arrival startled George out of the textbook, the yank of his neck causing momentary pain, before it was replaced by a fresh sensation of bewilderment. </p>
<p>It was the boy from the feast, the one who had made eye-contact with George. Only he wasn’t the hungry troublemaker George remembered, he was sprawled across the floor, absolutely covered in glass, staring wildly at the ceiling like if he moved he might die, his broomstick rolled against the wall.</p>
<p>George sat frozen on the couch, watching the boy, unsure if he should say anything or wait for him to make the first move. Though it didn’t even seem like he had noticed George’s presence; still staring determinedly at the ceiling, panting softly. </p>
<p>He really should say something, the boy was covered in cuts; he would need help. But what the hell do you say to a person who’s come crashing through your window unannounced? </p>
<p>He settled for clearing his throat loudly. The boy jumped, then cried out in pain as his hands sunk into yet more glass beneath him. </p>
<p>“What the fuck?” He mumbled, almost woozily.</p>
<p>Despite the situation, George chuckled. He was clearly not in too much harm, just cut up on the face and arms. Nothing George hadn’t been able to fix before. </p>
<p>“I could ask you the same thing.”</p>
<p>Their eyes met for the second time, and strangely George found himself flushing under the weight of the gaze those green eyes held, that same confidence in his eyes. </p>
<p>And the boy certainly seemed to recognize George too. “Hey! You’re that guy from the feast aren’t you? George isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“Er…yeah.”</p>
<p>“Well I’m Dream.” He reached out a hand, still full of glass shards, for George to shake, and for the first time in his life, George turned down a handshake, staring at the hand incredulously until Dream noticed and retracted it, almost bashful. </p>
<p>George stared at him, trying to attach his name, Dream, to the boy’s face. He had known the name since he’d heard it whispered at the feast, but for some reason he’d never thought of it since. Dream sounded nice, it suited his face more, for reasons unknown to George.</p>
<p>“So,” Dream smirked slyly. “Come here often?”</p>
<p>George laughed. “Yeah…It’s my bedroom.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” The boy reddened, though he too laughed. </p>
<p>He was still sitting in the pool of glass at this point, but it seemed that he no longer noticed that. George felt incredibly awkward, unsure what to say to the boy. It was the first interaction he had had with someone outside of the hospital wing or Madame Pomfrey; he had almost forgotten how to speak. </p>
<p>He settled with helping the bleeding boy. “Are you okay? You’re bleeding pretty badly.”</p>
<p>“Huh?” Dream looked away from George down at the ground he sat on. “Oh yeah, guess I am.” </p>
<p>“I can fix it if you want? George offered quietly, trying not to sound too eager. Despite his awkward demeanour, he felt an inexplicable desire to be around the boy; he didn’t want their conversation to end just yet. </p>
<p>But Dream didn’t notice this sense of eagerness. “Oh yeah, you’re a healer aren’t you?”</p>
<p>“Eh, not officially. I’m training to be though.”</p>
<p>“That’s why you’re here?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.” George stood up from the couch and helped Dream to his feet. “Here, take a seat.”</p>
<p>“Thanks.”</p>
<p>There was a silence that was filled only with the small sounds of George rustling through his drawers, searching for a cloth he could clean the wounds with and anywhere for him to dispose of the glass. It took him only a minute, but the quiet seemed to fill the room in the meantime. Both boys were aware that it was weird they weren’t speaking, especially since they should have been chatting amicably by now. They were both the same age after all, most boys would be rambling about quidditch by now, and George felt certain that Dream had some opinion on the matter, considering the broomstick on the ground being the sole reason for his entrance. </p>
<p>He finds the cloth, and a random bucket and crouches in front of Dream. “This might hurt.”</p>
<p>“I can handle it.” Dream grins, but it falters when he feels George tugging the glass out of his skin carefully, tossing them into the bucket. </p>
<p>The silence becomes comfortable. The almost rhythmical sound of class dropping into the bucket was soothing, and allowed for George to focus on not pulling anything out at such an angle that Dream bled more. It was scary sometimes to George how careless people were about these sorts of things. It should be more widespread information how risky pulling things out of cuts can be. </p>
<p>“Sorry about the old window there.” Dream said after some time. “Didn’t give you a fright did I?”</p>
<p>“It would take a lot more than a boy flying through my window to scare me,” George smirked. “I suppose you were playing quidditch?”</p>
<p>“Yeah…oh SHIT I forgot about Sapnap and Karl.” Dream jerked, staring out the window in a panic.</p>
<p>“Who?”</p>
<p>“My friends, they must be a little concerned about where I went.”</p>
<p>George plucked out the final shard from Dream’s hand and dropped it. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to kill you or anything, you’ll be back out there in a minute.”</p>
<p>But in his head, he feels an inexplicable guilt for keeping Dream from his friends so long already, even if it was to help him. He picks up the cloth hurriedly to finish the job. </p>
<p>Wetting the cloth with his wand, he leans closer to Dream to carefully dab at the cuts, the blood staining it pink. This close to the boy, George can see a tiny sprinkling of freckles, so light and small they would essentially blend into his skin if not for George’s proximity. The eyes he thought for so long to have been green appear, in this lighting, to have specks of pale blue that shine and dance with the shadows of the fireplace. His lips were smooth and full too, but George wasn’t sure why he noticed that. </p>
<p>Dream seemed to be staring at George with a similar expression of observation, though his gaze wavered, was more uncertain, his eyes flicking away every so often as he caught George’s stare. </p>
<p>George cleared his throat suddenly, leaning away from Dream and wringing out the water from the cloth. “Again, this is probably going to sting a little.”</p>
<p>Dream just smiles, his response unnecessary to vocalize because they both know he would say something along the lines of ‘I can handle it.’</p>
<p>“Episkey.” George mutters it several times, once for each of the many cuts on the boy’s skin. </p>
<p>He wished there had been a healer like himself to use the spell on his cuts, the ones from years of bullying he endured at Beauxbatons. If he’d been able to use the spell earlier, on the fresher scars, they would have healed. As it was…the scars over his body were still there years later. </p>
<p>Alas, George settled for taking away the ones Dream would have gotten, for keeping for boy’s skin as smooth and perfect as it was before.</p>
<p>“You’re pretty good at this.” Dream says quietly. “Must have had a lot of practise.”</p>
<p>George smiled to himself. “Well, you’d be surprised how many kids have come in this week alone.”</p>
<p>His mind wanders back to the boy who caused so many of those cases: Punz. </p>
<p>“Hey, do you know a kid named Punz?” He asks suddenly, wondering if perhaps Dream knew anything more about the boy other than his clear lack of impulse control when provoked.</p>
<p>And by the looks of it, Dream does indeed know the Slytherin. He chuckles darkly. “You mean Dumbz?” </p>
<p>“Huh?”</p>
<p>“That’s what we call him, Dumbz. He’s basically our enemy.” Dream explained with a heavy sigh. “You’ll probably be seeing a lot of me and the boys in the hospital wing this year. Why’d you ask? Have you had a run-in with him yet?”</p>
<p>“No, and hopefully I won’t. He’s been the reason for about a third of the kids who’ve come in so far. Seems like a right piece of work.”</p>
<p>Dream laughed out loud at the understatement. “Oh he is alright. God a fucking chip on his shoulder that one. Think it’s cos of Sapnap probably.”</p>
<p>“Who?”</p>
<p>George stood up, giving Dream space to do the same, though the boy seemed in no hurry to leave, leaning against the wall casually. </p>
<p>“Sapnap. He used to be best friends with Punz when they were younger, until he turned out to be a fucking pureblood supremacist and started hurling blood slurs at all the muggle-borns.” </p>
<p>“He’s one of those wizards then?” George asked solemnly. </p>
<p>Dream seems to blanch at those words, and looks down at his freshly healed hands, flexing them. “Yeah, I fucking hate that lot.”</p>
<p>And George had the decency not to mention it further; it was clear that Dream had some sort of personal attachment to the sentiment, why he was not sure. </p>
<p>“You’re probably good to go then.” He says brightly, and Dream jerks out of a sort of trance. </p>
<p>He faces George again. “What about your window?”</p>
<p>George waves his words away. “I can fix that, no problem.” </p>
<p>“Of course.” Dream’s grin is back. “I keep forgetting you’ve already graduated smarty-pants.”</p>
<p>George laughs but before he can respond there’s yet another sound from the window. The boy with the sandy-brown hair that George recognizes from the feast as well, most likely this ‘Sapnap’ character, is on a broom and peering into George’s room. </p>
<p>“Oi Dream, you alive?”</p>
<p>From the corner of the room Dream flushes with an embarrassed smile. “That’ll be Sapnap.”</p>
<p>Glancing back at Sapnap, another boy reveals himself. He looks slightly less confident on the broomstick as Sapnap is; flying stationary and gripping the broom so tight his knuckles have turned white, but he has a thrilled smile nonetheless. </p>
<p>Karl, George figures from context. All he had to say about that boy was that his name very well fit his face and demeanour, though he couldn’t explain why if prompted. </p>
<p>Sapnap on the other hand was a different kettle of fish. The name Sapnap fit him, yes, but only because it was so unusual, and Sapnap appeared to be the type of person you didn’t soon forget about. If George had to guess, he’d say that Sapnap was probably somewhat of a jock, clear from the way he zoomed around on the broom with ease. He wore a Gryffindor sweater that fit over his figure almost elegantly. </p>
<p>“Well…” Dream starts to walk back to the window, bending over to pick up his fallen broomstick. “Sorry about the window again.”</p>
<p>“Oh no that’s-”</p>
<p>“Hurry up Dream!” Sapnap calls impatiently from outside, unable to hear their conversation. </p>
<p>“I’ve got to go.” Dream smiles warmly. “See you!”</p>
<p>“Bye-” But the boy had already flown away. </p>
<p>George sits down where Dream had been only moments before; the couch still slightly warm with his presence. He absentmindedly fixed the window, and vanished the contents of the bucket, but his head was as far away from the glass as possible. </p>
<p>A group of friends. It was an obscure concept to George, who himself had never known the friendship of one person, let alone two others. He had read enough about friend groups such as that one in his books, but seeing it in person was almost crazy. Beauxbatons was not a place to make friends, there wasn’t a single friend group in his year, or at least none that were as in-your-face as that one. George supposed he ought to be grateful he had such a good excuse for not finding friends at aged seventeen. </p>
<p>And Hogwarts was giving him the perfect opportunity to rectify that. Madame Pomfrey herself had encouraged it, despite knowing how awkward he could be. It was really, the perfect chance for George to find himself a life. </p>
<p>But he had his studies, and barely any time to spare when it came down to it. Unless someone wanted to ‘hang’ with him in the dead of night, he wouldn’t get very far friendship-wise. </p>
<p>But that was also a shitty excuse. And if George hadn’t been so caught up in his fear of rejection, he might have noticed that if he could successfully carry out a conversation with a boy his age, without making himself look a fool, and still managing to participate in his healing training, he could certainly make new friends.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hello! i just wanna make something clear: when i chose punz to be the bully/enemy type person it was completely random, it has nothing to do with who he actually is i just needed a bully character and i randomly chose him lol</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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